Warm Rain
by Windswift
Summary: Yomi knows that one day, everyone must learn. To grow up. To move on. If one can face it and become stronger, not run away, then that he can respect. And if he has done so, it was only a matter of time before Kurama would learn as well.


Disclaimer: YuYu Hakusho belongs to Yoshihiro Togashi.

I have finally seen the YYH episodes from beginning to end! …Well, I've seen the first episode, I've seen the last, and I've seen most of the ones in the middle some time in the past… three years? Suddenly, it sounds less like an accomplishment… but I do have the Makai Tournament in my possession, so I've new characters to play with, and new canon to go, "Oh… maybe I shouldn't have written that…"

Set during episode 108, Kurama's fight with Shigure.

Pairings? Not written as one, but feel free to infer whatever you like. Personally, I'm looking at Yomi and wondering if he's another candidate for one of Kurama's stalkers…

_**Warm Rain**_

"Why are you doing this?"

The dry dust and wind bothered him less than his curiosity. He wanted to know, to be the first to demand answers of the victor… or the corpse.

He might have accused Kurama of giving up. But no, the fox was nothing if not a survivor. This, then, was a plan. Intrigued by his refusal to fight with his true strength as Youko, Yomi wondered what sort of plot it might be, a few steps ahead of his intellect, and judging by the conversations as he left, ahead of the rest of the observers as well.

Yes… Yomi's old partner, his wisest mentor. Not that he had ever bothered to learn while the bandit still stood beside him. Yet intentional or not, the fox had cured him of the rash immaturity of his youth, and drawing upon his memories and other senses in lieu of his sight, he had grown to understand.

He had viewed the world as if through a mirror, uncaring if his perceptions contained distortions. Strangely enough, when his light had been stolen, and the mirror rendered useless, Yomi saw clearest.

A rush of power… Kurama had unearthed a seed from ages ago, his tree swallowing the entire field of battle. If his strength held out, Shigure had nowhere to run. Innovative, but he had expected nothing less.

Yet, why was he draining himself dangerously dry, while still none of his energy had the purely demonic feel of the youko?

Shigure's life went out, like a candle flame blown out into the dark.

Kurama was not standing up. Yomi was missing a piece of the puzzle still.

Leaping upward amongst the twining branches, Yomi first noted the scent, fragrant like cherry blossoms. A sea of the flowers rustled overhead, a quiet sound, yet so immense. Compared to Kurama's creation, he felt strangely insignificant. This, then, was what the Kurama who had entered his domain, answered his invitation, was capable of. If this was the answer to Yomi's earlier question, then it was an unexpected reply… so very like him.

Underlying the aroma of blossoms lay the sharp taint of blood, the stirring of thousands of petals laced with soft, rhythmic breathing.

Certainly Yomi had heard the rumors, but when he met Kurama in person for the first time in a thousand years, he had still been surprised by how human his old partner had felt. Nothing alike—yet always the same. Red hair now, someone had said. Yomi's sensitive hands had told him that it was thicker, curlier, quite unlike the fine and silky strands of Youko. Yet his green eyes pierced and narrowed just as dangerously. A human heart pulsed in his chest, betraying his flawlessly controlled face and emotions.

Yomi had changed. Was it not fitting that Kurama would change as well?

Petals drifted away in the wind, falling like a warm snow or a cleansing rain.

Giving up? No, Kurama would never do that. But Yomi had dealt with the pain of his past and moved on. The fox had not been deliberately denying his past as Youko, had not been running away—he had proved now, to them all, that he could keep going forward.

Wise… and how very like him. This, Yomi could respect.

He lay crumpled on the branch like a child, or a child's doll tossed carelessly aside. Yet even passed out he was still apparently plotting, subconsciously using energy he would have exerted to stay awake instead to stem the flow of fresh blood.

Yomi wrapped an arm around his shoulders, carefully lifting him. One arm pillowed Kurama's head, the other lay limp and outstretched before him, fingers loosely curled. Yomi easily cupped it in his own, a child's hand, frail and delicate. Yet he was certain that it could kill as easily and gracefully as he remembered a demon do so many centuries ago.

Brushing his thumb over the palm, he came across a crushed petal, as smooth as silk and sweet as the flowers falling around them and disappearing into nowhere. Yomi needed no eyes to know it was a thing of great beauty. The fragrance only grew stronger for the disturbance, and the boy in his arms shifted slightly, his lips parting.

"Mother…"

Perhaps Yomi had not forgiven Kurama for the assassin. But he had learned, his foolish self had died, and like a phoenix, his wiser self had had to crawl about in ashes. No hatred chained him to his past.

Why should he expect anything less from Kurama?

Supporting the limp body of his once friend, Yomi took the first steps away from the battle—a silent testament of respect, of confidence. After this initiative, the rest would be up to Kurama.

Silently falling blossoms, like a warm rain, washed away the stains of a dirty past.

**…****  
Owari  
…**

_-Windswift_


End file.
